


Tension

by Rasiaa



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Accidents, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasiaa/pseuds/Rasiaa
Summary: Nothing in the world could have prepared him for being abruptly hit on the head with a string of rope that definitely hadn't been there a second before.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	Tension

**Author's Note:**

> I'm using the prompts from Fairshaw week, which from what I gather, was last month. HOWEVER, I didn't know this ship existed last month, so there's my excuse. In the two days since I found it, I've read just about everything here and so now here I am. Fairshaw is one of those ships that kind of hits you in the head and expects you to be happy about it, which you obviously are.
> 
> Never written for WOW before, despite being an avid player since Wrath. Interesting challenge... I hadn't realized just how much content I'd have to even attempt to remember, and what to ignore or not, etc. The characters are more difficult than expected, too, so hopefully not too off. I'll probably get better as I keep going, as is the way of things.

Boralus is cold, wet, dark, and generally all around miserable three quarters of the year. Summer isn't much better, as the humidity makes Mathias want to die. He's a year into this war and it's not getting any better. Sometimes he considers retiring, except he knows himself, and he wouldn't be able to sleep without knowing what's going on and whether the kingdom is safe or not. So miserable weather it is.

The locals seem to have no problems; they hardly even complain. They think mild gray clouds and light rain is a good day. If the temperature is above freezing in December it's like they're all about to melt. He and the other Alliance members get laughed at as they stand on the _Wind's Redemption_ and shake with the cold. Even Ironforge's cold is combated with steady fire and warming devices, so the gnomes and dwarves employed by the 7th Legion are just as bad off, seeing as Kul Tirans have no such concept. It's a small consolation.

Wyrmbane dismisses them early. "Go find drinks and blankets," he suggests bitterly, and everyone disperses without a word.

The intention is to go to his cabin at the bottom of the ship, get wine, and look over reports from Arathi. This is not what happens.

Flynn Fairwind has an uncanny ability to know the exact moment that he gets a second of free time. Any passing minute, really, where he's not dealing with something important. He's looked into it. Flynn lacks any magical device that would allow that, he doesn't employ spies, and he hasn't planted anything in his coat or anything. It seems to be a sincere, sick coincidence every single time.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for being abruptly hit on the head with a string of rope that definitely hadn't been there a second before. It happened too quickly for anyone to shout a warning even if someone _had_ seen it coming.

He swears and backs up, startled in a way that he hasn't been for decades. He rubs his head and looks up, freezing bones forgotten for the moment.

Of course.

Fairwind--for some reason on the roof just above the 7th Legion embassy--seems just as shocked as he is, hands still midair to catch the rope. He looks to be on the verge of laughing, but the horror of what he's done prevents it.

"...Sorry, mate," he calls down after a moment. "The rope slipped."

He makes sure to level the sea captain with his most unimpressed glare. Fairwind winces and lowers his hands.

"Flynn!"

Taelia Fordragon. He should've known she'd be involved. Where Fairwind is, Lady Fordragon usually isn't far behind, or vise versa.

"What are you doing? You were supposed to fasten the rope!"

"I, uh. I dropped it," Fairwind calls back sheepishly. He doesn't break eye contact.

"You dropped it?" Fordragon sounds incredulous. "Where?"

Mathias raises his eyebrows. It gets the satisfying reaction of Fairwind flushing in embarrassment. "It may or may not have hit Master Shaw on the head," Fairwind answers, finally looking away, over his shoulder.

There's the sound of rapid footsteps, and then Taelia Fordragon leans over the edge of the roof to stare. "Oh, by the Tides," she mutters. Without looking, she reaches out and smacks Fairwind upside the head. He sputters in protest. "Sorry, Shaw!" Fordragon says. "Flynn's an idiot, don't mind him!"

"Tae!"

Mathias will find out what they were doing later, he's sure. For now, he just nods at her and walks away, taking care not to trip over the rope. He can hear their banter all the way to the inn, where he intends to get something much stronger than wine.

...

Fairwind finds him later.

"I'll pay for the next round," is his opening line as he slides into the chair across the table. Mathias doesn't answer. Fairwind sits in the silence, but it evidently becomes too much after just two minutes and sixteen seconds. Remarkable that he lasted that long; his average is about forty seconds. "Look, mate, I really didn't mean to hit you this morning," he says.

"I know," Mathias says. "It's fine."

Fairwind waves down the waitress, who gives him a dirty look. She drops a drink in front of him, smirking when it spills slightly. Fairwind curses and pulls out a napkin to wipe up the mess as she walks off. Mathias figures they know each other.

"...Can't say it wasn't amusing though," Fairwind says, once he's cleaned up and taken a long drink. "You should've seen your face--I think that's the most emotion I've ever seen from you!"

"Glad to entertain," Mathias says dryly.

"I mean, you're pretty uptight, you know. All you Stormwind folk are, really. Never seen anything like it. I wonder--is there some kind of restriction on fun in Stormwind?"

"No."

"I mean, I got a mean dressing down from your boss after dropping that rope. Cyrus laughed but Wyrmbane--funny name--was not amused. One slip up, I swear!"

Mathias can think of at least a dozen others in the past month alone. Fairwind is their main source of Azerite, however, so they really can't afford to throw him in jail.

"You all need to release some tension, you know."

He has a sinking feeling about where this is going.

"Plenty of lads and lasses around here--though I can't promise you'll wake up with all of your belongings. I certainly haven't before. Last time--"

"I understand," Mathias cuts across. "Thank you."

Fairwind looks him over. "See? Uptight. You don't even want to hear about the time I was with three different people at once? Talk about a release! It's really interesting to get tied up--with rope, how funny--and f--"

"That's enough," Mathias interjects again, tightening his grasp on the tankard in his hands. "Truly. I get the picture."

Fairwind laughs, leaning his elbows on the table. "I thought you liked knowing everything?"

"There is a line."

" _Boring_ ," Fairwind sings. "Maybe hearing it isn't your style? You want first-hand experience?"

"What?" Mathias asks, more for something to say than for a request of clarification. He leans back.

Fairwind grins slyly and stands. Tossing some coins onto the table, he leans down and presses a kiss to Mathias's cheek. "You know where to find me, love," he says. "In case the life of a shut-in spy becomes too much."

This is not the first time he's made this offer. Mathias responds the same way as he did the first half dozen times--with a scowl and shake of his head. Fairwind laughs as he leaves.

Mathias stares into his drink and tries not to notice the fact that he'd like to follow and take up the offer.


End file.
